Category Archives: Humor

Here’s Mud In Your Eye…………

Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Every family has their legends. This is one of ours, but I’m absolutely certain it’s true.

My mother-in-law was one of the kindest, sweetest women you could ever meet. She was the quintessential housewife. Marie ensured that there was always great food on her table and good food available in her kitchen if she wasn’t there in that moment to prepare something for you.

Her freezer was never empty. In fact, she was so committed to having snacks available, that we deemed her freezer a “hard hat” area, in fear of all the goodies that would fall out onto your head if you opened the freezer door too quickly.

I was never fortunate enough to meet my father-in-law, but by all accounts they had a fine and long lasting marriage.

There were glitches, however. And when I hear stories like this, I am so proud of Marie. Words  like moxie and gumption come to mind.

So one day, John, Marie’s husband, comes home from work and saunters out to his garden.  Marie, who never learned to drive, has been home alone all day long with no one to talk to.  She kind of waits for her husband to come home so that she can have a nice conversation, a nice dinner, and a bit of grown-up human interaction.

There was a time when she used to follow him out to the garden and chit-chat while he was weeding, pruning and picking ripe vegetables. But his grunting instead of answers, or turning his back to her, quickly made her realize he was in no mood for conversation, even though she was dying for a pow-wow, a talk fest, a tete-a-tete.

So when he immediately goes out to the garden, she’s well….pissed. She, of course, would never use that phrase. She might say she was upset, disappointed, or put-out. But let’s be honest, she was pissed.

When John finally comes in to wash up for dinner, Marie is in a tizzy. As her husband is alighting the stairway to go change out of his gardening clothes and  get ready for dinner, Marie can’t contain herself any longer.

She confronts her husband, something like this, I imagine:

“It would be nice if you could talk to me for a few minutes when you get home from work.”

“What?” he replies as every clueless husband on the planet would.

“I would just like to talk a for a little bit.”

“We’re talking now,” he said, seriously meaning it.

“No, like just a few minutes to talk about our day,” she tries to sound like she’s not whining.

“What are you whining about? We’ll talk at dinner,” he responds ending the conversation and turning to go.

“Well, that’s not how I see it.”

And with that John says (in my imagination).

“Well, how do you see this?” And with that he spits in her eye.

Marie chases him around the house inside and out, the whole time the two of them are laughing, knowing how ridiculous this is….. but he never went to that garden first again.

Marie and Jean..2 girls with Moxie
Marie and Jean..2 girls with Moxie

Go, Moxie!

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

Does Anyone LIKE Comcast? or I MIss Old TV…………

Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

I am so ashamed. Yesterday, I said “F$%^@ YOU! to Comcast.

Of course, I’ve wanted to say that to Comcast on many, many, many occasions. But I have controlled myself. I’ve acted like a mature, grown-up and kept my temper until I hung up the phone and then said it out loud again and again and again.

I’ve said that to Comcast while watching TV when my cable box goes out for the 10th time in one night. I’ve commiserated with many a Comcast customer and we’ve concluded with “F&^% YOU, Comcast.”

But this day, I actually said it to the customer service representative.

I know you want the story:

“Hello, this is Cathy. I am the Power of Attorney for my brother-in-law. We need to disconnect his service, as he is now in a nursing home.”

It’s more complicated than that, because he’s only there temporarily, but I knew any other story would slide me right over to ‘upsell land’ trying to get me to buy HBO, STARZ,  SHOWTIME and any other ‘deal’ of the day.

“Oh,” the representative replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Okay, let’s get this done. I need his home address, birth date, the last four digits of his Social Security number and your name and relationship to the customer.”

I gave her all the necessary information.

“Well, I see that account has already been cancelled.”

“Really?” I said with surprise, “by whom?”

“By Ryan, do you know someone named Ryan?”

“No, I don’t.” More disturbingly, I don’t know anyone named Ryan who would have my brother-in-law’s birth date and last four digits of his Social Security number.

“And what did Ryan say his relationship to the customer is, exactly?” I inquired.

“I don’t know,” she said informatively.

I paused here. My first thought being: “well how in the hell does some stranger without all this necessary information cancel this contract?”

But quickly followed by, “thanks, Ryan, whoever you are. Now I’m done with this baloney.”

“He does live in an apartment facility,” I tell the representative.

“Oh, well then that must be it, they probably cancelled it. It was done yesterday.”

So far so good, right? What could possibly have led me to swearing, losing my cool?

“Okay, that’s great,” I say, “now, I’m sure you will owe him a refund. How does that get processed?”

“The customer will receive a paper check in 30 days.”

Bill Pay“Excuse me?” I countered. “You have been taking money out of his bank account for five years. I would prefer that you just refund the account that way.”

“Oh no,” she said rather quickly, “it must be a paper check in 30 days. That’s their policy.”

“So let me get this straight, you have had access to this bank account for five years. Now you want to send a paper check to the customer who is cancelling service because they are moving away from the address where you want to send the check?”

“Yes, that’s their policy.”

“Okay, I know this is not your job. So could you please register my complaint to the ‘powers that be’ that this is ridiculous? That when people call to cancel an account, that you should either refund the amount to their bank account, or send it to their new address, since they call because they are moving.”

“No,” she actually said ‘no’, ” I can’t do that. This has been their policy from the beginning.”

Even still….I was holding myself in check.

“Well,” I said, “thank you so very much for NOT registering my complaint.’

“Have a good day,” she siad.

“Fuck you,” I said.

P.S. Five minutes later I called the phone company, which is a little tiny podunk town phone company, to cancel his phone service.  That customer service rep asked me this question:

“Where would you like me to send the refund check?”

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

 

 

One Man’s Trash or When the Saints Go Marchin’ In………….

Caregivers, Humor, , , , , , , , ,

There are karmically times when you know you are too distracted. Of course, you don’t usually find that out until karma hits you over the head with a two-by-four.

Yesterday, I had a massage, which although meant to be therapeutic, was also supposed to have the added bonus of relaxing my head, neck and shoulders which love to tie themselves into knots on a weekly basis.

I was feeling pretty zen as I left the masseuse, and then my mind took over.

“Okay…now I have to go to Wawa, get lunch for my brother-in-law who despises the nursing home food. Then go to his old apartment, get his mail, pick up his hand braces talk to the management about closing up his apartment, and get to the nursing home before lunch so he eats the lunch I’m bringing and not their swill.”

For some strange reason, as I get back in my car, I decide this is a good time to clean out all the extraneous trash. I have a cup from the masseuse, who gave me water, I have a napkin with a peach pit in it, which was my breakfast on the go, and some WalMart receipts that I no longer need sitting in the cup holder. I gather up all these items, throw them in the big bin outside the store and drive away. I’m feeling very superior, as I now have a tidy driving space, not like all those other slobs driving around!

On the way to my brother-in-law’s apartment, I remember that I’m passing the post office and need stamps for my daughter’s bridal shower invitations. A quick yank of the car into the post office parking lot, and I reach into my purse for my debit card. No card.  I take everything out of my purse, go through every pocket in the purse, take everything out of my wallet. No debit card.

How can this be? I just had it at Wawa? Oh crap. Did I put it back in my purse, or was it still in my hand when I threw away the trash? Oh crap. I start to pray: “Dear Saint Anthony, come around, something’s lost and can’t be found.”

I don’t even get out of my car, thinking, I’ve got to get back to that trash bin before they empty it or some other superior feeling keeper of a pigsty pours their left over Big Gulp on top of my trash. I’ve got exactly four minutes to get here (I timed it on the way).

AnthonyDear Saint Anthony come around something’s lost and can’t be found. You can say that a lot in four minutes,

When I get to the Wawa, there’s a space right in front of the trash bin. And, of course, a guy sitting in his car watching me. Ugh. Don’t care, I’m goin’ in!

I look in the bin and cannot believe my eyes, The bag is completely clean. The only trash in there is mine and my debit card is sitting right on the top. My first foray into dumpster diving felt so good, I wanted to do a victory dance. But I refrained, that guy was still watching me.

I must’ve been good today. Karma and St. Anthony my new BFFs.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

It’s gettin’ hot in here. So take off all your clothes……

Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

I’ve been so entrenched in caregiving, I decided I needed a girl’s day out. So I went out, all by myself. I need to find a mother-of-the -bride dress, because well, I’m the mother-of-the-bride.

My friends insisted I try to find a gown at  Neiman Marcus. This store is ridiculous. On my way to the evening gown department,  I walked by a “SALE” table loaded with purses. The sale was 50% off, as marked on the price tag. The first tiny clutch I picked up off the table is on sale for $2500.00 TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! Hmmm. Might be out of my league here.

But my sister bought her mother-of-the-bride dress here and the price was well within all the other places we had gone to. I forged ahead to the snooty, fancy-pants evening gown High Heelsdepartment, which was right next to the shoe department where the Christian Louboutins snuggled every so comfortably next to the Jimmy Choos. Not a pair was under $600.

But, okay. I would not be stopped. I found a few gowns to try. I couldn’t find a salesgirl to save my life. So I stood outside the locked dressing room, struggling to hold these expensive, voluminous gowns while praying someone would come to my rescue.

Finally, a sales person shows up, ever so happily puts me in a dressing room and comments as she leaves. “Oh, I don’t think you want to try on THAT dress, it’s cut way too low in the back.” All that did was piss me off, and I said, “No, I want to try it on anyway.”

I swear to God, there isn’t one damn item in this store for less than $100, and now in the dead of August, when it is over 90 degrees outside, these dressing rooms are NOT air-conditioned. What, they can’t afford the electricity? I’m sweating profusely while taking off my clothes. Now, I’m going to try and put on slinky gowns that stick to me in every possible crevice. It’s hotter than the hinges of hell in here.

Many minutes go by and no one comes by to help me. I peek out of my dressing room completely unzipped and there’s a man chatting with a woman about the Jimmy Choo’s she’s trying on in the dressing room.

First, why is there a man back here, when we are in various stages of undress?  Why isn’t there anyone to help me zip up a $700 gown. And why is it so damn hot in here?

I struggle in and out of a few dresses…nary a sales person in sight, except for the conversation I’m hearing in the next dressing room.

The man and woman are discussing how adorable the shoes are that she is trying on. THEY have a sales woman who is bringing them different sizes of shoes, in the dressing room. Is it me, or is that weird? Go to the damn shoe department, and take that cursed man with you.

And then I hear why I’m getting no help.

She: “So we have about 10 grand in shoes here.”

He: “Yeah, that seems right.”

She: “Well, we have four grand in clothes, so we’re right where we want to be with that.”

He: “Yeah. So the shoes should be okay.”

gown 1Why would anyone help little old me with just a $700 gown?

I’m pretty sure those two had their own air conditioner in their dressing room.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

You Make Me Feel….like an idiot….

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Last week I had to spend 8 hours in the hospital waiting for my brother-in-law to come out of emergency surgery. All went well, in fact, so well, that they sent him straight home. Because he had been without food or drink for 24 hours, I decided to  go get him dinner and bring it to the rehab center. I didn’t trust that at 7:00 P.M. they would provide a nutritious meal, or any meal for that matter, because, you know, “the kitchen is closed.”

When I arrived at the rehab center with his hoagie, chips and root beer (okay, not so nutritious, but he was hungry and I was tired), there was a tray being delivered to his room. It contained one pathetic grilled cheese sandwich. That’s it, not even chips or a pickle, after no food for 24 hours. There wasn’t even a picture of Donald Trump or Jesus burned into the grilled cheese, and yet we were to believe that it was a miracle he had a sandwich from the kitchen at this hour!

The next day, I was exhausted. i just wanted to stay at home and work on my computer, sit on my deck, read a book and be left alone. As I was enjoying my solitude, I decided to play some music while I cleaned up the house.

I could not get the BOSE to turn on. The only way the BOSE radio and CD player works is with a remote control. The old BOSE, which died and they so thoughtfully replaced for a mere $250, had buttons on the unit and a remote. But someone in design thought, “Hey what do we need those buttons for? We have a remote!”

I’ll tell you what they need those buttons for.

So this remote which is the size and thickness of a credit card, does not work. No matter how many times or how hard I press those buttons nothing is happening. In my infinite wisdom, I decide : “Oh I’ll just put in a CD. I don’t need to listen to the radio.”

So in goes, Carole King’s amazing album from 1971: Tapestry.

I cant’ turn the volume up to drown out my warbling, because, you know, the buttons don’t work. So I sing softly, so I can hear Carole.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Msmnb676RxI

Three hours later I want to kill Carole. The earth has moved and everyone is so far away, but I can’t turn off the damn BOSE, because, you know the buttons don’t work.

I finally discover with a magnifying glass, in that credit-card-sized remote is a teeny, tiny place for a battery, which I do manage to purchase after going to three different stores.

It never occurred to me I could pull the plug, it was too late baby, for that.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

Stay tuned for an important message…..

Brain Injury, Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

My friend. Lisa sent me a Facebook message this morning before 8:00 A.M. I happened to be up and reading the newspaper (yes, I still have an actual newspaper delivered). It was a bit odd, both for the time and the message as it was one of those ridiculous cat videos. Neither Lisa nor I have a cat, nor do we share any cat videos, as a rule.

But okay.

I responded with something like: “Hahah. Oh that’s cute.”

To which she responded: “Fuck. that was a mistake and I sent it to someone so wrong. HELP!”

I said, helpfully: “Haha. You and technology. You do have a brain injury, you know.”

She messaged back: ” I meant to send something else, this video is STUPID. Help me delete it.”

I gave her instructions on Messenger how to delete the message that went like this:

“In the messenger box at the top is a circle that looks like a sunburst and it says “options”

and then if you click on it it says delete conversation.”

 

To which Lisa replied:

“What’s the Messenger Box?”

 

Now, I’m thinking: “Oh, boy, we are in trouble” Since we are typing in the Messenger Box.

So I reply:

“When your are on your iPad in Facebook and you send a message to someone it comes up in a box. The message box to send a message is next to the word HOME after the silhouettes of the people…its like a bubble of conversation.”

To which Lisa replies by calling me on my cell phone so we can have an actual conversation…much like an actual newspaper.

“Help me get rid of this stupid video!”

“Okay,” I say, “get off your android phone and go to your iPad, it will be easier there, because I have an iPhone and the screen isn’t the same.”

After a minute or two as two middle-aged incompetent Facebook users try to communicate about things that look like bubbles and sunbursts and silhouettes of people and gear-thingies and where to click on them and see what it says, I finally get off my computer and revert to my iPad so we can be looking at the same screen.

We somehow manage to both get into the Messenger app and find a screen that had options on my computer but doesn’t come up with options when you click it on the iPad. Ugh. How can this be? Why oh why do they keep changing the options?!?!  And then I see and owl icon and it says “help”. So I type in:

How do I delete a message?

Up comes an FAQ:

 How do I delete a message?

Put your cursor on the message and hold it down and the message will be deleted.

All of that took 45 minutes and a lot of swearing. I never did get to finish “Dear Abby” in my

actual newspaper.

“You Just Have to Laugh…..”

©Cathy Sikorski 2015

Here’s the “stupid” video for your viewing pleasure:

“Where’s the Beef?”

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

One of the weekly treats I like to bring my brother-in-law, who is almost done in the rehab center, is a cheese steak. For some reason, this small gesture makes him enormously happy. He eats every single morsel and makes me pick up the remains with a fork so he doesn’t miss a bit. He’s become mildly obsessed with his food choices. This makes a lot of sense as it’s about the only choices he actually has on a daily basis.

If I wore a hospital gown every day, no shoes, didn’t go anywhere and could only choose my TV programs, I, too would be fanatically choosing my meals every day. So I try to be  understanding when it takes hours to go through the menu to pick his meals. I’m so understanding that I turned that job over to my mother. She meticulously goes through every single appetizer, main course, including condiments, right down to the amount of salt, pepper and sugar to bring with each meal, dessert and beverages. Then she makes a copy to leave with my brother-in-law so he can check to see what he’s having or if they brought what he actually ordered.

I find this OCD behavior over food and menus daunting. Probably because I’m on a diet. Or maybe because ever since my babies grew up, I’ve become Attila the Hun about having to worry about any body else’s food. And yet, as my mother and I were visiting him the other day the aide brought him a grilled cheese sandwich for his lunch.

The looks of horror on all our faces told her she was not leaving that room unscathed, because we had just finished this conversation:

Brother-in-Law: “What am I having for lunch, today?”

Mom:”I don’t know, let me look at your copy of the menu. So you chose a hot dog and a cheeseburger for today.”

Me: “Oh you’re having your own summer picnic!”

With that the grilled cheese sandwich arrives. This poor girl is accosted by all three of us with a resounding chorus of “Noooooooooooo!” like she had finally brought the hemlock as we had all suspected.

ice cream sundae“Don’t worry,” the aide said, “I will call the kitchen and get what you ordered.”

Now I’m trying to figure out how ‘hot dog’ and ‘cheeseburger’ looks like ‘grilled cheese’ on a pre-printed menu. But I still want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. As I go to look at the menu, my brother-in-law starts to eat his grilled cheese.

“I might as well eat some of this, who knows how long it will take,” he mumbles through bites.

He eats half the sandwich, half the ice cream sundae, which he did order and it is now melting, and lo and behold the hot dog and hamburger arrive sans condiments. We take care of THAT catastrophe and all is well in the land of lunch.

By the way, I finally got my hands on that menu….there was no grilled cheese sandwich as a choice anywhere on any day for this entire week. I imagine the people in the kitchen saying things like:

“Oh we ran out of hot dogs, these people won’t notice a grilled cheese instead. I hope they’re not lactose intolerant.” Or any other kind of intolerant.

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©Cathy Sikorski

Mothers and Daughters…..Part 131

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

My daughters have come from far away cities to visit for a few days. It has made me reflect on Mothers and Daughters. I could do entire blog just about Mothers and Daughters….daily.

Last week as we were leaving the rehab center where my brother-in-law would be departing for surgery never to return, Mom and I began to take the few personal belongings from his room.

As we were leaving, my Mom picked up the three little mylar ballons each on its own stick, that people had given my BIL for his birthday the month before. I thought she was going to throw them in the trash. But she clutched them to her bosom like she had just discovered a new grandchild.

“What are you going to do with those,” I asked, ok accusingly. I asked accusingly. The whole point of this exercise was to leave behind the crap and just take what was absolutely necessary.

“Well, they’re his. I don’t want to leave them behind,” she said by way of obvious explanation to her idiot daughter.

So I turned to my BIL:

“Do you REALLY want these crappy balloons?” I asked. Ok, I asked sarcastically.

“What balloons?” said the guy in rehab who was getting ready for surgery and clearly was not in a festive mood.

“Ugh. Mom, throw that crap away. What does he need it for?” I asked her.

“Well, I could give them to other people with birthdays. Like Jeannie, it’s her birthday soon. I could give her one.” said my Mom innocently.

With that the guy in the bed pipes up, “Yeah, give one to Jeannie and tell her it’s from me and Happy Birthday.”

So home with us the balloons go.

This is the same woman who three days later calls me and says:

“Okay, I’ve cleaned out all of your BIL’s clothing from his dresser, and gave away everything he’ll never wear. I took all his medical supplies and meds and stored them in my house until we figure out what to keep in his new apartment. And I’m going to start taking pictures off the walls next week.”

“MOM!,” I said with the crazy attitude that every daughter wants to say to her mother every time they talk.

cell“What are you doing? We don’t even have a place for him to live yet after surgery. If we can’t get arrangements made, he may have to go back to his apartment temporarily. Let’s not make it look like a prison cell. There’s plenty of time to throw things away.”

Of course, I’m thinking, “at least he’ll have some nice balloons to look at, wherever he goes.”

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

 

Who you gonna’ call…Dustbusters…….

Caregivers, Humor, Medicare, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , ,

So the saga for my brother-in-law continues. Of course it does, I’m a caregiver.

He had surgery yesterday. Finally, after 12 weeks in rehab of staying in bed with a shop vac on his behind to suck the wound into a better place. I don’t know, that’s what they tell me. It’s actually called a wound vac…but it’s a mini shop vac that stays on the wound 24 hours a day to help the healing process.

My Mom, a nurse from the ’40’s says all they really had to do was keep that wound clean and dry and open to the elements. That’s what Rosie the Riveter nurses used to do and it worked fine. Of course, because his wound is on his bottom he would have had to be lying on his stomach for 12 weeks, with his derriere on display for the world to see. So I’ll take the shop vac method. Plus, if he takes home the vac, maybe it can double as a Dustbuster.

Surgery is a resounding success. The only downside is he cannot be in a sitting position for 4 to 6 weeks. I know. Maybe solitary confinement and water-boarding would be more pleasant. But what are you going to do? The problem with these damn bed sores is that they don’t heal if you don’t stay off of them. And ironically, as bed sores, you can’t stay off of them easily if you are, well, in bed, which is where they insist he stay.

So, now the protocol is that he must be lying on his side or flat on his back at all times.

My brother-in-law is an engineer. He’s actually a rocket scientist as he worked in that industry.

His first question is:

“How do I eat?”

This drives me crazy.

Not only is it not rocket science and he is a rocket scientist, he can’t figure out how he’s going to eat.

By the way, his engineering brain wants to kill me every time I have to do something with his wheelchair or tray table and I can’t figure out the best engineering way to handle it. I’m actually on his side, when he yells at me. I am NOT an engineer. I have no spatial skills whatsoever. I can’t play pool because I don’t get it. Physics eludes me. So when he is trying to explain to me how to turn the tray table around the OTHER WAY so that the feet don’t bump into his cath bag, and I just keep shoving…well he wins the frustration game that day.

MilkshakeBack and forth we go the caregiver and the caregivee with our remarkable skill sets and loss of patience for each other’s nincompoopery (I’m absolutely positive that’s a word in the caregiving lexicon).

So when he can’t figure out that he will have to lie on his side and chew and swallow the best he can, and have as many milkshakes as nature will allow to keep his calories up, and that we won’t starve him. He will have help like he’s always had these last years, well I want to …………..say a prayer of thanks that I can help. (Not really but I wanted to look better than the jerk I am in this moment).

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

One is Silver and the Other’s Gold…….

Brain Injury, Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , ,

Remember in high school this conversation, usually in the girls’ bathroom:

“Oh my God, he’s so cute. I hope he asks  me out!”

“Oh my god he IS SO CUTE!,” replied your girlfriend in the next stall.

Of course this was before you could text between stalls.

My friend Lisa, is going to her high school reunion for the first time. It’s her 45th reunion. Add 18 to that and you have deciphered the age of most of the participants with a certain very tiny margin of error of no more than a year, unless they had an unusually high percentage of child geniuses in her small upstate New York town. I feel quite certain this was one of their former conversations four decades ago.

Oddly, Lisa attended a singing event in that same small upstate New York town several months ago. She made a special effort to contact some old high school friends and voila! She was convinced by these dear, kind friends from the past to make a special effort to get to that reunion.

Since her traumatic brain injury, Lisa does not drive and no one from her high school lives anywhere near her. But these old pals from the past, whom she hasn’t seen in a very long time, have agreed to drive many hours to come pick her up and the same many hours to return her safe and sound to her home.

This has restored my faith in humanity.

Lisa hasn’t seen these people from high school in many years. She hasn’t spoken to several of them at all since high school ended. And yet, these girls (yes, I’m going to call them that) are willing to make big sacrifices to get her transported, housed and taken care of so that they can all reminisce about their teenage lives.

I have been know to comment that “high school never ends”, and not in a good way. I have seen cattiness, jealousy and spitefulness continue among high school compatriots all around me. And, of course, we see it as a staple in reality TV like “Real Housewives” of anywhere, “The Bachelor(ette)”and any “reality” show requiring contestants to compete for attention, living space, food, or screen time so they can be famous. This is high school behavior at its finest. Small-minded, petty, self-serving behavior. It might be fun to watch, but it’s really not fun to be in the midst of it.

Life has continued to become a popularity contest, and not in a good way. What else would you call a host of mudslinging, bully tactics designed to make your opponent look bad in the eyes of the student body…oh a political campaign, that’s right.

I am one of those few lucky girls who even after 40 years of  high school,  still regularly sees my high school girlfriends who are a rock solid foundation of support, fun, and constant joy in  my life.

That my friend, Lisa, has rediscovered the possibility that old friends could be ‘gold’ does my heart good.

This, of course, did not exempt any of these 60-something women from having a big internet powwow in the last few days about whose old boyfriend will be showing up and which of those might be single and a possible “love connection.”

I imagine those ladies in the girls’ bathroom this weekend when they see their former flames saying:

“Oh my God, he’s still so cute, I wonder if he’s single?”

“Oh my God, he is cute, and he has his own teeth AND HIS OWN HAIR?!?!?”

See, high school never ends…….no, really, it’s true. If only you knew that when you were in high school.

“You Just have to Laugh………..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski